THE SANDMAN ☞ TRAVIS STOLL

SEVEN

CLARISSE LARUE IS BACK.

    Valerie Greenwood thanks Apollo and his children for that, for her broken leg mending quickly—although, not quickly enough.

    Despite the fact that the children are infinitely more terrified of Valerie than they are of Clarisse, the daughter of Ares demands respect and obedience just by breathing, just by her aura. Valerie does not. Wrangling them while Clarisse was on sick leave was a chore, with and without the extra help.

    "No April today?" Clarisse asks, halfway between indifferent and relieved, as she pounds out a dent in her sword, likely caused by one of her brothers or sisters. Any time anyone walks past Cabin 5, all they hear from the open windows and door of the cabin is fighting, no matter the time of day or night.

    Valerie shakes her head, tying her long hair back into a braid. "I guess not."

    That is the end of the conversation between the two trainers, each going to their own designated groups of campers.

    They obey Valerie far more than they did yesterday, when Travis had gotten them all riled up with gossip.

    Winnie, one of the younger ones, and a daughter of Hecate, takes a few small steps towards Valerie as her peers practice with their wooden swords. "Can you help me?" She says, quietly and slowly. Uncertainly. "I want to be able to do what you do."

    It's unclear to Valerie whether the little girl means wielding a sword or dreamwalking.

    Winnie hesitates for a moment, blinking several times. "Everyone says you're scary. I want to be scary like you." Her eyes harden despite the fact that her lower lip wobbles. "I want to make them stop being mean to me." She says with a sort of conviction that is both brave and menacing.

    Something in Valerie's frozen heart cracks and thaws. She can feel the memories that are pulsating out of Winnie's mind—the bigger, taller, older children, some her siblings, some not, their voices harsh and grating and vicious.

    "You don't want to be like me." Valerie says instinctively. Winnie's red hair is more auburn than copper, but something about this detail, of a small, redheaded child looking at her this way, makes Valerie want to scream.

    Winnie's head shakes, side to side, her wine-red hair brushing against her shoulders. "I want to make it stop."

    Valerie looks around, eyes catching on Clarisse and her group, as well as Valerie's own group that spars with each other. "Winnie, I don't think I can help you. I don't think you want my help."

    Her chest throbs with a dull, ancient pain, made worse by Winnie's wide hazel eyes and the way she clenches her jaw, as if willing herself not to cry. The dreams and thoughts coming from Winnie are bitter, sour, acidic. But beneath the rot, beneath the taste of disappointment and sorrow, there is a subtle sweetness, like an orchard at the peak of summer.

    "Please," is the only thing Winnie says, and it comes out desperate.

    With that one word, Valerie's resolve breaks. "Alright," she says, power surging up her spinal column and begging to be let out. "I'll teach you how to do what I do."

    She agrees, partly because Winnie's pleading eyes could stop a war, and partly because she looks too much like Noelle to say no to.

    Winnie's bouncing on the balls of her feet, dancing in circles as she squeals, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She looks so excited, so thrilled to be like the monster she so looks up to.

    "Go back to practicing your defensive moves. We'll talk later." Valerie grumbles, meeting Clarisse's gaze from across the arena.

    Clarisse LaRue has the innate gift of seeing through a person, and when she meets Valerie's wandering eye, she can tell. She can sense that something is happening, something is wrong.